


Hello

by xoxoxo



Series: The Book of Mormon - Original Broadway Cast Recording [1]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Dubious Consent, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma, Panic Attacks, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Work, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23377804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoxoxo/pseuds/xoxoxo
Summary: 7 years post-Uganda. It's winter in New York. One of the coldest, bitterest nights that the city has seen is upon them, and Kevin Price has nowhere to go. Connor lives nearby, but Kevin hasn't spoken to him in years. At his lowest low, with only a handful of belongings, an empty stomach and an exhaustion so pure that Kevin doesn't know if his body can carry him there, he decides to open that door. He doesn't have anyone else to turn to.Or: Kevin Price is a homeless sex worker and this is exactly the kind of dark shit that I expect of myself at this point. Read at your own risk.
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Series: The Book of Mormon - Original Broadway Cast Recording [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807474
Comments: 42
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Implied/Referenced Violent Sex + all of the tagged triggers.

While curled tightly on a lonely bench in New York as the snow fell around him, Kevin found himself thinking of Uganda. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the heat on his back in the bitter cold that pushed against it, he could almost feel the market in the constant footsteps of people passing him by. He could almost feel the- he could almost feel the... feeling of being loved. Of having people, in this world, who cared about him.

He couldn’t feel any of those things, though. Not really. What he could feel was the deep cough in his lungs, the kind that didn’t mean good things were coming his way. He could feel the pain at his wrists and the swelling inside of him from a brutal evening. He could feel the eyes of people looking through him, but not at him.

He fought to pull in air, his body curling up tighter, before his lungs exploded in a painful fit of coughs. He sucked down shallow breaths, hoping it might help the ache in his chest, but with each shallow breath, a pain stirred deep in his throat. The tears gathering in his eyes were warm on his frozen skin. Slowly, he pushed himself up, wrapping his arms around his chest (the discomfort each movement caused was something that he was growing accustomed to) and began walking. It had been the most brutal winter he’d ever seen. Utah didn’t see winters like this, and in his three years here, neither had he.

Still, he recognized the beauty in the snow. It was one of the only beautiful things that he could think of.

With the bitter cold, though, came overcrowding in shelters. On nights like these, which were the worst of them, the only shelter that he knew of within walking distance filled quickly. Homelessness, the world itself holding vitriol to Kevin, wasn’t something that he was particularly well-accustomed to. This had been a more recent development, and although he’d had at least two very short-lived stints of… of being… homeless… over the past few years, he’d been fortunate in that he’d never faced it in the height of winter. Thirteen days ago, Kevin had been kicked out of his small, shared apartment. While it hadn't come as a surprise, it had brought on a slew of new problems.

Over the last two weeks, Kevin had learned a little bit about the complicated homeless system in his city. There was a combination of luck and planning that went into securing a bed on these types of nights, which made sleeping outside his preference. At least there, he had fresh air. When it got too cold, though, he had very limited options. Sometimes he’d get lucky. He’d get there early enough, or there would be room to squeeze him in and he could ride out the storm.

Tonight, though, he’d had a choice to make. He could get to a shelter early, or he could… make money. Eat his first real meal in days. Maybe he could even get a hotel, a shower…

As his fingers and his toes grew numb, walking through the dark streets of Manhattan, his stomach aching and his legs trembling, his wrists burning, Kevin knew he’d chosen wrong.

His shoulders slumped as he made his way to the shelter. It was almost certain to be too late for there to be room for him.

He walked in, head held as high as he could, forcing neutrality onto his face. He could tell by the woman’s expression that it was bad before he even spoke.

“I’m sorry,” she had said, barely willing to meet his eyes. He nodded, looking only at the floor. He would not cry in front of this woman, in a homeless shelter, in New York City. He wouldn’t. “We can help you find somewhere, though-” She must have noticed the way his shoulders hunched further, the involuntary step backward that he took. “We will find you a place-” the woman had told him, nothing but pity in her expression. She wanted to help him. It was out of her control. She pulled out a binder with papers and started flipping through it. He knew the drill. “We can call-”

“No, it’s okay,” he’d said, the cadence of his voice quicker than it should be. He kept his eyes down as he shook his head, trying desperately to hide the tears that were forming in them. He figured those calls would land him nowhere. The look on her face told him he was on his own.

He heard her call after him as he hurried out the door, back into the bitter cold, but he couldn’t turn back. He couldn’t let her see his heart break.

Kevin did the only thing he could think to do. He started walking north. He’d tossed the idea around a few times that day, at the worst of it, when he just needed to find something to cling to. He hadn’t thought of Connor often anymore, his mind a darker place that he mostly focused on keeping quiet, but today had been hard. It had been really, really hard. And as some type of fucked up defense mechanism, his brain supplied him that name, and now he couldn’t get it out of his head.

He held his fingers under his arms, tried to keep his core warm, and he walked. It had been years since he did this, but he… he didn’t think. He, for the first time in a long time, just walked, following his obviously very questionable instincts.

His general appearance and posture garnered a fair amount of looks, the bags under his eyes, the blanket around his shaking shoulders. More seriously, the bruise that was likely forming on his temple. And the traces of blood possibly leftover on his face, from where he bit his lip so hard he cut it open.

He, as well as anyone who dared to look at him, knew what he was. And he knew that not one person who glanced his way with pitying eyes truly cared. At least not in any way that mattered. And he wasn’t their responsibility, another truth that he was painfully aware of.

Connor lived on 70th street in a walk up apartment. It was the first place Kevin had gone when he moved here, tired and hungry and not quite hopeless but well on his way there; not nearly any of those things the way that he was now, though. He was a different person then. At twenty-four years old, he had gotten off the bus and headed directly to this apartment.

But he’d stopped short that day as he watched Connor, arms linked with an attractive man in a suit, walk up the steps to his apartment. The smile on his face had been genuine, and his laughter had been loud enough that Kevin still dreamt of it today. And something in Kevin had snapped. He didn’t know why, specifically, he had come to find Connor.

He had walked by the apartment almost daily for weeks, trying to get the courage to knock. To say I miss you. To see how he was doing, to hear stories about his life after the failed mission. To have the easiness of their friendship back. But he never got the courage, and he quickly grew to realize this wasn’t the life that he was meant for. He left then, and he didn’t return. That was almost three years ago.

Now, though, he didn’t know where to go. Broken on the inside in more ways than he could possibly describe, Kevin felt the familiar sting of absolute and utter hopelessness. The feeling that maybe his time had come, and that maybe God would welcome him into his embrace, finally home and perhaps finally, at peace.

It wasn’t so much that he was ready for it to happen, but it was an absolute truth that he was learning to accept. That this was out of his control. The cold felt dangerous tonight, the difficulty with which he drew every breath felt like the beginning of the end of his story. And he was, he believed, accepting of that. But if there was one thing in this life that Kevin wanted one more time, it was to see Connor’s smile.

His feet were numb, his hands were numb, his tears had created little icicles on his eyelashes, by the time he arrived.

He looked in the window of the apartment, his shallow breaths little puffs of smoke. Darkness. And still, he walked to the door. He mustered all the bravery he could find, hyping himself up for the unknown, and eventually, he knocked.

“Hello?” Kevin said, his voice weaker than he wanted. His chest felt tight, his throat hurting as he knocked again on the door. “Hel...Hello?” he repeated, but his voice wouldn’t work quite right. He was afraid, and the fear continued building in his chest, paralyzing his senses.

One more time. He pulled all his energy for one more shot. “Hello? Connor? Connor, are you… hello?” He made his voice carry as far as it could, but there was no sound of movement inside.

Tears stung his eyes and he nodded hopelessly, accepting the failure. He didn’t know what he’d expected in coming here. And if Connor were here, what then? He spotted the small park across the street, empty with the bitter cold, and made his way over.

He’d need to find shelter soon, if he’d have any hope of making it through the night. Find a bridge to protect him from the snow, or an alley that would block some of the wind. But something was fractured inside of him. Something telling him to wait, to see Connor one more time.

Shivering, he found a bench, and he curled up as tight as he could. The snow fell around him while he wrapped himself in the blanket, covering his head and leaving just enough space that he would be able to see Connor walk up. To see him walk inside with his boyfriend or husband or dog or… and to maybe, if he was lucky, get to see him smile. Get to hear him laugh.

It wasn’t long before the exhaustion overtook him, his mind quieting, but eyes trained on that building. He wasn’t even certain… if Connor still lived there. And as the minutes ticked by and the night grew colder, Kevin grew weaker. He grew numb to the pain, his eyes unfocused but aimed tirelessly at that door. His breathing slowed, and he thought, this is it. And he allowed himself to feel that sadness.

No one would help him. He would die here alone, and no one would even know. His sadness was interrupted when he finally did see something that gave him pause. He smiled lazily, his lips chapped and colorless, at the red curls peeking out from under his winter hat. He watched, without thought, as Connor unlocked his door. He was… he was supposed to do something.

He opened his mouth to call to him, to make a plea for help, but no words came out, only the deep chesty coughs that he couldn’t seem to shake.

And just as quickly as Connor had appeared, he disappeared behind his door. Kevin smiled in spite of himself, curling up impossibly tighter. As he let his eyes close, finally allowing the darkness to shroud him, he thought that it was enough. If Connor was happy, that was enough.

✥ ✥ ✥

“Hello?” The voice was distant, the familiarity felt like a dream, and maybe it was a dream. Kevin wasn’t quite able to tell, but it was a welcome sound. A blanket of warmth that would help ease him through this night.

“Hello? Hey, buddy, can you hear me?”

I can h… I can hear you. The voice was trailing off though, as the darkness clung to him, the gasping breaths destroying his chest and his throat.

He felt a shift in the air against his back, his neck. The weight of something heavier, protecting him from the bitter wind. He heard the voice still, but he couldn’t make out what it was saying. His fingers couldn’t clutch his blanket any tighter or any looser. They, too, were frozen.

“Wait- Kevin?” He felt a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. He needed to explain. He was confused. He tried to fight his way back to the surface. His chest hurt and his back hurt and his head… his head really hurt. It hurt so bad.

“Kevin Price?” There was concern in the voice, and Kevin fought to open his eyes.

“Kevin? Hey, buddy...” The words were an embrace in themselves, but he couldn’t feel the feelings he knew he should. All he could feel was the cold.

And then there was a gloved hand on his face. He tried to pull away. Please don’t... touch me, he thought, but his thoughts were slow, and he couldn’t say it.

The hands at his cheekbone brushed his face lightly, and then more… more firmly, wrapping him up and pulling him closer and closer to the surface, and then he could... he could hear the words again.

“Jesus, Kev. You’re freezing.” There was familiar panic in the voice.

Kevin tried to speak, but still no words came out, only tell-tale sounds of him struggling for breath. He felt his jaw shaking and finally, he was able to muster just enough energy to force his eyes open. The world swam, his vision dancing between blurred and complete darkness.

Kevin tried to sit up. He pushed his arm under him, he lifted his body but got his shoulder only inches off the bench before his muscles gave out and his weight dropped. I’m sorry, was what he couldn’t say. Connor used to hate when he’d say it. He tried to say it anyway.

“I-” He swallowed. “I’m-” His breaths came in gasps.

“Ok, Kev. You’re okay. Hang tight, don't try to talk yet.” Kevin swallowed painfully and nodded. He could do that.

Connor put his hand under Kevin’s shoulder, easing his weight off the bench. “Let’s get you inside,” he whispered, looking straight ahead as he stood.

Kevin’s body took his weight reluctantly, the shivering starting up again, making it difficult to walk. His vision swam as they moved slowly down the sidewalk, inching their way through the storm and to… to safety? His eyes were open enough to see the distance to the door. It was so far, and he was so… he was just so tired. But Connor held onto him, mostly dragging him by the end.

He just wanted to sleep. For someone to hold him and to let him cry and to tell him that they… that they cared about him. Just for a moment.

When the door opened, the warmth assaulted him almost painfully. Connor helped him inside as Kevin stumbled, trying with everything in him to keep himself upright. To maybe just… maybe if he could just use the bathroom and eat something, then he could go. And he’d have this, to maybe help get him through the night. He opened his mouth to tell Conn-

The ache in his head intensified suddenly with the heat of the apartment, a stabbing pain that threw him out of his thoughts for a moment. Kevin realized, as he looked around the room, how lost he was. He staggered, grabbing the side of the sofa but then pulling back. The sofa was clean and neat and Kevin had learned long ago not to touch the furniture. But he was shaking, stumbling, and just- he needed something to help balance him, as Connor let him go to throw his keys to the side table.

“Fuck, Kevin,” Connor said, coming up next to him and steadying him. He didn’t need to see Connor’s face to know how he looked at him. Kevin couldn’t face him. He needed to leave. He tried to turn, but-

Connor didn’t notice or he didn’t care. Kevin forced air into his lungs. His chest hurt so fucking bad. He tried again to turn to the door. This was a mistake. “Hey. Let’s… come on. Let’s get you warmed up. You can… after you get warm, you can go if you want, okay?”

Kevin kept his eyes trained on the floor, his shoulders tight and the familiar burn of tears in his eyes. Why had he come here? He came here because he needed help. And because of anyone who could help him, maybe Connor would.

And so he found himself complying, trying to lift his feet and follow Connor’s lead, mostly, admittedly, being carried.

Connor pushed open the bathroom door and flipped on the light, the brightness momentarily blinding Kevin. He closed the toilet seat and guided Kevin to sit. Wordlessly, he turned on the faucet behind him, and then moved back to Kevin.

“Hey,” he said, kneeling to get in his eye-line. Kevin had no choice but to meet his eyes then, and so he did. Shamefully, he looked at Connor, blue eyes full of all the concern and pity that the world had to offer.

Connor smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered, and Kevin, having nothing else to offer, shrugged. Connor brought the back of his fingers to Kevin’s forehead. Kevin couldn’t suppress the flinch, and Connor pulled back his fingers immediately, brushing them against his own thighs.

I’m sorry, Kevin wanted to say. He couldn’t find the words.

“I’m sorry.” It was Connor who said it. “Can you get yourself undressed?”

Kevin nodded silently, slowly shrugging Connor’s coat off his shoulders, doing his fucking best to hide the pain the movements caused. Connor watched this for a moment, his expression guarded.

“I’m going to get you some water while you,” he said, gesturing to Kevin’s body as he stood. He let out a tense breath. "While you get undressed." He took the coat and disappeared into the hallway.

If Kevin had a single word to label how he felt, right then, it’d have been ashamed, he thought. He didn’t want Connor to see him like this. Why had he come here? he asked himself again, and again, and again. He could have stayed where he was. He could have waited out the storm, or he could have slipped into the darkness and either way, it would have been God’s plan for him.

Connor turned the corner back into the small room, carrying a bottle of water, and despite hours of enduring the frigid temperatures, Kevin's mouth watered at the thought of it. He tried not to let Connor see the desperation with which he wanted to drink it, as Connor set it on the sink.

“Let’s get the wet clothes off,” Connor said. His voice was... different, Kevin noticed. Less soft, more… clinical. Detached. He realized as Connor glanced over his body that he’d failed the one task he’d been given, and sat frozen on that toilet seat, still fully clothed.

“Is it okay if I help you?” Connor asked, as Kevin’s arms shook with the effort of untangling his fingers from the blanket.

A moment of silence passed before Kevin nodded, staring at the towel that hung on the wall. He hated this, every second of it. Connor had seen him before, in Uganda. Countless men had seen him. But this was different. This felt more… more intimate, more… scary, he guessed. This was… his heart pounded in his chest. Connor wouldn’t hurt him. He… Connor would not hurt him. Still, he couldn’t calm himself down. He focused on breathing, and on staring at that towel.

“Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”

“Okay,” Kevin whispered, keeping his eyes ahead. Connor peeled the blanket from Kevin’s hands, carefully loosening his fingers from their grip around the fabric. He unwrapped it from his shoulders, revealing the tattered shirt and pants that he’d gotten from the shelter one week prior. Connor did not show a reaction, one way or another. Kevin, however, moved his focus to the light on the ceiling, hoping it would help suppress his tears.

He tried to force air into his chest but it hurt. He didn’t- he didn’t have many real options. And so he closed his eyes and tried to lift his arms at Connor’s unspoken request. Connor had to help him with that, as well.

“Okay,” Connor said, once the shirt was off of him. Kevin didn’t actually know what it revealed, but he could imagine it wasn’t… that it wasn’t what Connor was used to seeing. That it didn’t hold up to the boys the Connor usually had in his apartment. Certainly thinner. Certainly bruised, some healing and many new ones starting to appear. Most likely paler, dirtier, weaker. “Kev... We need to get you to a hospital.”

Immediately and with deliberateness, Kevin shook his head. “I’m okay,” he said, forcing all the strength he could muster into those words. “I… j...ust need to… to warm up and... I’ll be-I’ll be o… I’ll be okay.”

Connor nodded but Kevin was fairly sure that he hadn’t convinced him.

He watched as Connor’s eyes lingered on his ribcage and he looked down at himself to see what his old friend saw. Each rib distinguishable from the next, a mess of bruises and dirt and maybe some blood covering him. He couldn't look at himself for long. He took the water bottle from the ledge of the sink, and felt the shame rising as he struggled to open it. He could do this. He could open a _fucking water bottle_. This wasn’t outside of his-

“Can I help?” Connor asked, glancing up as he got Kevin’s shoes and socks off. Kevin, praying that the tears stayed contained, handed it over, fisting his fingers to try to bring some life to them.

Connor watched with trepidation as Kevin took the bottle, slowly bringing it to his lips. The pain in his chest was unrelenting, but the water going down his throat felt… so, so unbelievable. It was cooling and it was soothing and it was just… relief. And he drank more, and he… he couldn’t stop himself. And he could feel Connor’s eyes on him, and he knew that he was spilling water because he didn’t have control over his muscles, and he was distantly aware of Connor helping steady the bottle, helping steady his head, and his eyes closed and he just. God, it felt so good.

His whole body started shaking, more violently than it had. And he couldn’t control it, but he just… he just wanted to feel better. To drink the water, and for the burning in his throat to ease.

“Can you stand up?” Connor’s voice was soft as Kevin lowered the bottle. He did, with some help, and Connor unbuckled his belt and helped him out of his pants. He’s a doctor, Kevin told himself, but he still felt the shame. He’s seen this before. But standing there, in his underwear only, Kevin froze. He’s not going to touch you. You're safe.

Once down to just his underwear, Connor stood from his kneel and leveled with him. “Can you do it? Finish getting undressed?” Connor asked, his voice gentle and supportive but also direct. Kevin shakily drank the last bits of water, hoping that Connor might have more for him, but knowing he might not.

He felt Connor’s appraisal of his body, then. His eyes lingered where Kevin expected them to linger. His forehead, his lip. "Can I?" Connor asked, his fingers hovering over Kevin's skin. Kevin closed his eyes briefly as he nodded. He didn't know what else to do. Connor placed his hand gently on Kevin’s neck, ignoring his sharp intake of breath but meeting his gaze for a moment, making sure he was okay. He brushed his thumb across Kevin's throat, his expression tight as he applied pressure there. Kevin tried not to show how bad it hurt, but almost instantly, Connor pulled away. He looked over his chest, brushing his fingers down his ribs. “Please tell me if it hurts,” Connor said. It hurt, but Kevin didn’t tell him. He was frozen. Connor took Kevin's hand and turned it, looking at his wrists. Standing there in his own filth, Kevin’s thoughts went dark.

 _He is on his stomach, the man behind him so rough with his already fragile body. He is… is he_ trying _to make him hurt? Kevin has become aware of this just moments too late, the ties on his wrists suddenly digging into his skin. He’d agreed to this, and would be paid well for it, but he didn’t exp- Kevin screamed outright as-_

“I can do it,” he whispered the answer to Connor’s earlier question, so soft that he wasn’t sure he heard him.

Connor searched his eyes for a moment, looking for... something, then nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to leave the door open. I’ll check on you in a few minutes.”

Kevin held his tears in as he waited for Connor to turn the corner into the darkness, and not a moment passed before they finally fell from his eyes, streaming down his cheeks, past his jaw, onto his neck. He only fought to keep quiet, as he let himself fall apart.

His chest, his back. His… his legs, and his arms and his fingers and his toes and his fucking head, everything hurt, but nothing compared to the hurt in his mind, in that moment. He stepped into the shower carefully, his hand planted firmly on the pristine wall for support. The warmth of the water on his frozen skin burned, bad. He bit back a scream and lowered the heat, cautiously stepping back into the stream of water, barely able to see through his tears as the dirt and the blood and the semen that clung to his body was rinsed away.

✥ ✥ ✥

He didn’t know exactly how long he laid on the tiled floor of the shower, curled up like that, letting the lukewarm water pour over him. His eyes were heavy and the reprieve from the pain, the beginnings of a feeling of peace, of safety, blanketed him.

He knew Connor had checked on him multiple times, and he was distantly aware of Connor talking frantically on the phone in the other room, but he couldn’t say with certainty if it was about him. He… was so tired. His throat ached, his stomach ached. And lower, things only felt worse. But as his body warmed up, the water started to feel… to feel okay against his skin. And so he laid there and he let his eyes close and he prayed that if he did fall asleep, his mind would go easy on him.

He heard a gentle rapping on the glass door of the shower but he couldn’t open his eyes. He curled up tighter, a small cough escaping him.

The door slid open, and he felt Connor’s hand on his face, firm but gentle. “Let’s get you up,” Connor said, and Kevin grasped his hand, accepting the support to get himself to sitting. He opened his eyes and felt Connor’s free hand in the middle of his back. Not low enough or high enough to hurt. As he moved to stand, Connor moved with him, guiding his body up. He swayed as his limbs shook, reaching out to the wall for support.

“Can I-” Kevin started, his voice hoarse. Connor’s eyes met his, hesitation there. “I can do it.” It was a request for privacy. One he didn’t deserve, but hoped maybe he’d be granted.

“Okay,” Connor said, stepping back. “Okay. I'll be right outside. If you... need anything.” Connor turned and left, closing the bathroom door behind him.

Kevin waited a moment, before stepping out of the shower carefully. Folded on the sink was a large towel, and under it, fresh clothes. On the ledge next to the fabric sat a new bottle of water, already opened for him.

He ran the towel slowly, gently, over his body, careful of the spots where he was most broken. He put on the grey sweatpants, which fit loose. He pulled the blue t-shirt over his head, easily recognizable as one of Connor’s favorites from their time spent in Uganda. Connor used to sleep in this shirt every night. And even when he truly thought he couldn’t cry more, he did, his face reddening as the tears ran down his cheeks.

His toes curled against the cold tile, his ratty clothes no longer on the floor. He looked at his reflection for a moment, hating himself more than he’d ever hated any person, for bringing this to Connor’s door. He rubbed his throat, then he took the water and, with a deep breath that hurt his chest but helped him muster some bravery, he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: all-american-prophet
> 
> please leave me comments I <3 them.


	2. Chapter 2

Connor paced his small kitchen, his hands uncharacteristically shaky as he browsed the cupboards. Kevin Price. _Kevin Price._ He hadn’t seen or heard from Kevin in _years_. There was a time… He didn’t let himself think about that, but they’d been close. He thought of Kevin less and less as the years had passed, he didn’t even- God, he didn’t _know_. 

His scouring became more frantic as each minute passed. What did he need. Water? Food? He paused and grabbed his medical kit, placing it on the kitchen table. He stared at it for a moment. It would send the wrong message. He placed it on the chair and draped his coat over it. He wasn’t trying to _hide_ anything from Kevin, though, was he? He removed the coat, and felt like that was a fine compromise. 

He’d left Kevin (how long ago was that?) to get dressed. Back in the kitchen, back in the cupboards, he found crackers, water. He was _so thin_. He was _way_ thinner than he should be. Connor McKinley, a professional, could handle this, he told himself. He was a mother-fucking _doctor._ He’d seen people underweight. But his- his eyes were- 

Connor stopped himself. Be a _doctor_. He heard the door open before he saw the thin man emerge from the hallway. He closed his eyes for a moment to aid in letting his instincts kick in, closing the distance between them quickly. Kevin Price was… he was dying, wasn’t he?

He came into view quickly. Connor’s clothing, which once would’ve fit tight, hung off of him. Carefully, Connor put his arm under his friend’s shoulder. He tried to… keep his touch light. Kevin had flinched earlier. Kevin had cried, and had shook, and had forced himself to remain composed, but Connor knew from experience that he was fighting an uphill battle. Kevin accepted the assistance, mostly fighting for breaths.

Under his hand, Connor could feel his ribs. He toed a fine line of wanting to assess his condition as subtly as he could and wanting to respect Kevin’s privacy and right to decide if he consented to this, but ultimately took the small cues wherever he could. Kevin had, after all, come to his house. Was that permission?

It didn’t matter. He needed a hospital.

“Easy, buddy,” Connor said, forcefully slowing their pace as Kevin drew forward. Kevin kept his eyes down, on anything other than Connor. Gentle reminders that he _wasn’t_ , in fact, comfortable with what was happening.

“Sorry,” Kevin coughed, hugging his stomach. 

Connor eased Kevin’s frail body onto the couch, holding back whatever emotions hung pointedly in his peripheries. He took an intentional step back as Kevin’s legs curled under him, his arms wrapping around himself and his eyes closing. Connor draped a thick blanket on top of him, letting his hands linger on Kevin’s shoulder a moment too long. 

He cleared his throat as he stood. “Are you warm enough?” he asked. “I turned up the heat already, but I can-” He swallowed. His eyes grazed Kevin’s now nearly lifeless frame. “I can turn it up more.” By the end, it was a whisper.

Turning up the heat wasn’t what Kevin needed, Connor knew. Water. Food. Medical attention, but of the three, Connor suspected that one would be the hardest sell.

He fell to his knees next to the couch, pulling the blanket down far enough to see Kevin’s whole face. “Look, Kev, you’re making me nervous, okay? Can you… try to keep your eyes open? Look at me?” Connor moved to sit next to him, a gentle finger on his chin, guiding his eyes to meet his.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Are you having any trouble breathing?” His eyes danced quickly over Kevin’s throat, then back to his face. Kevin shook his head.

“No,” he said. “It… it’s hard to talk, but I can… I can breathe.” Kevin nodded, as if to drive home his point. 

“Okay, that’s good. Does it hurt?”

There was a moment of hesitation before Kevin nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “It hurts.”

“Your throat still?”

Kevin nodded. There was an unspoken ‘among other things’ that Connor suspected, but he’d take what he could get.

“I’ll get you some ice, it should help with any swelling, maybe take the edge of the pain. I want you to try to eat something.” He retreated to the kitchen and took a steadying breath, then got the things he’d promised. Kevin’s eyes were still closed when he got back, his fingers tangled into the blanket. 

For a moment, Connor watched, concerned, as he struggled over every breath, before he cleared his throat. He handed him a fresh bottle of water and a few crackers to start, and placed an ice pack gently on the side of Kevin’s neck; Kevin jerked instantly at the contact. “Hold it here,” he said softly, as Kevin took over for him. “Your stomach probably can’t handle much more right now. When was the last time you ate?”

Slowly, Kevin lifted himself to a sitting position. Connor thought to help him, but he wasn’t certain he could personally handle being the cause of yet another flinch. 

In response, Kevin only offered a half-hearted smile, his fingers trembling as he lifted a cracker to his mouth. Connor watched this all, trying first to be a doctor, but failing. It honestly broke his heart in a way that he couldn’t quite describe. He knew he _absolutely_ needed to find some professional detachment in this situation, that there was no good ending to this, but watching Kevin struggle over eating a cracker made his vision swim.

Kevin, for his part, eased himself into eating. _Clear the pity from your face_ , Connor’s mind screamed at him. _Be. A. Doctor. You can absolutely do this, you falling to pieces isn’t exactly what Kevin needs right now._

But of all the people he’d expect to be in this position, why Kevin? Kevin, so full of life, so happy. So ambitious, and anxious, sure, stubborn to fault, but due in large part to how driven he was. A part of him chimed in that maybe he had it wrong.

The pallor of his lips, cracked and raw, the gauntness of his cheeks; it didn’t matter if Kevin had an answer for him. Regardless of his last meal, he wasn’t well. 

Connor found himself saying so as Kevin nibbled another bite of saltine, as he slowly opened the bottle, struggling although Connor had it about as loose as it could be without falling off. 

“We need to get you to a hospital,” he said gently, his fingers itching to help steady the water bottle as Kevin struggled over it. “You need medical attention. Food and water will only take you so far. Do you have any money?” The words came with an edge of professional detachment, a rehearsed speech that he began practicing the moment he brought Kevin into the apartment. 

Kevin offered a sad smile and shook his head, glancing briefly to the door.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, following a swallow that came too fast and subsequently evoked a pained grimace. “I shouldn’t have come here, I just didn’t… I don’t have anywhere else to go.” There were tears pooling in Kevin’s eyes, red as they were and dead with exhaustion. 

A moment of silence passed. Too long, Connor realized, just a moment too late. “I don’t have any money.” His voice was a whisper. “I don’t- I don’t have anything.”

Connor looked him over slowly, nodding. Regardless of what offer he wanted to make Kevin, to move in, or to get him a hotel, or to bring him to the hospital, he was keenly aware that he needed to be careful. Kevin glanced at the door again, this time for longer, and with intent behind it. 

His muscles tightened for a moment, a clear move to stand, and Connor could see the vision of it all playing out. Of him saying the wrong thing. Pushing too much on Kevin. Asking too much of him, and him getting up, fighting through his last bits of strength to _get out_ , and it would, Connor was certain beyond doubt, be the last time he, or anyone else, heard from Kevin Price.

So crying, hugging him, offering him every ounce of hope he could, needed to be done carefully.

“Okay,” Connor said, forcing his expression into one of ease. “Why don’t you sit for a little bit, warm up, eat some, and then we’ll see how you’re feeling?” 

Kevin glanced once more at the door, then at Connor. 

“You’re okay,” Connor said gently. “Just warm up some, and we’ll figure out the rest, okay?”

Kevin was clearly not all for the idea of going to the hospital, but Connor allowed himself to hope that maybe, if he could just warm up and eat something, he’d be in a better place after he rested. He stood then, looking briefly over his friend, who not all that long ago, Connor had looked at with nothing but admiration. Kevin let his eyes fall shut, exhaustion in every line of his face. His grip on the remaining cracker was loose, the water bottle, though, held tightly in his other hand, the ice pack resting precariously against his throat. Connor let his hand linger on Kevin’s forehead, sweeping the now-damp hair from his face.

Kevin’s legs curled tighter beneath him, and Connor took the water bottle, the cracker, then eased Kevin back down to laying. Kevin didn’t resist; as he faded into unconsciousness, Connor found himself wondering what the next move was. 

✥ ✥ ✥

Connor awoke to a gasp beside him, the violent movement of Kevin propelling himself upward, the blanket falling to the floor as Kevin hurriedly stood, disoriented, swaying on his feet, stumbling forward.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Connor asked, his hands finding Kevin’s back to help support him up.

“I’m-”

Connor couldn’t see his face, his eyes, but could catch a sort of franticness about his general posture as Kevin moved; he hurried toward the kitchen and Connor followed, flicking the light on just in time to see Kevin doubled over the sink, retching helplessly.

Connor moved next to him, letting his fingers graze the back of Kevin’s neck as Kevin’s head hung, his arms tight with the exertion of holding himself up.

He was covered in sweat and shaking, his neck at least a few degrees cooler than it should have been.

Connor wasn’t in the position to determine what exactly was wrong with Kevin, but based on the last few hours, it could’ve been any number of things, and hypothermia was high on that list.

He rubbed his back lightly, feeling the tension in his muscles as his body fought through it. Within a few minutes, his body stilled, his forehead resting against his folded hands, which clutched the faucet for support. 

“Here,” Connor said, handing Kevin the discarded bottle of water from earlier. He nudged him up, helping him bring the bottle to his lips. He turned on the faucet and guided Kevin to the dining room; Kevin didn’t fight it. 

“What happened,” Connor said, more firmly this time. He was pretty sure, at least at that moment, that Kevin running off wasn’t a large concern. Disoriented. Fatigued. Weak and trembling, were not going to allow for a sudden exit.

Kevin swallowed back the water, wincing as he did.

“Kevin,” Connor said again as Kevin’s eyes closed. He brought his hand to Kevin’s face, letting his thumb linger on his temple. “What happened?”

“I’m okay,” was all Kevin said. 

“Yeah,” Connor replied, resolved. “I- I think it’s time to get you to a hospital.”

✥ ✥ ✥

It wasn’t without a considerable amount of persuading that Connor found himself frantically searching his closet for his warmest socks and his slide on sandals. They would only be outside for a moment, and Kevin’s shoes were soaked. His heart raced as he found them, as he quickly moved to the living room and wrapped him into a large coat and then a blanket, as he helped him to his feet and searched his eyes for recognition while he put a wool hat and gloves on him.

Kevin was conscious but fading, and there were pieces to the puzzle that Connor knew were missing. He’d work on getting those out of him later, if needed, but for now, he’d wasted enough time.

He knew better than this, and hated himself for letting Kevin’s reaction dissuade him earlier. 

“Where are we going?” Kevin asked, voice hoarse and dry. He was disoriented, his eyes unfocused.

“The hospital,” Connor replied, as he half-dragged Kevin to the door. Kevin shook his head.

“I don’t think they’ll see me,” he said softly. 

“They will,” Connor said. His hospital was a lengthy ride away, but there were several closer options. Hospitals in the city were notorious for discharging the homeless and uninsured prematurely, but they couldn’t refuse to see him.

Still, the look of hopelessness on Kevin’s face gave him pause.

“They’ll see you,” he finally said again, before he finished the request for a car. “They don’t have a choice.”

There was a long silence in which Kevin mostly stood there, some unspoken request behind his eyes. Connor knew what the request was, but couldn’t bring himself to honor it. Don’t make me do this, Kevin’s eyes said.

Connor couldn’t, though, think of any other options, and Kevin, barely able to stand on his own at this point, ultimately didn’t get the opportunity to argue his case.

✥ ✥ ✥

They made the ride in silence, Kevin’s head against the cold window, his eyes open but unfocused. Hypothermia was the primary concern running through Connor’s head, but he was aware that there could be a whole slew of issues that he had no idea about. Neither the bruising nor the flinching was an indicator of hypothermia, and Kevin had offered very little about his history so far.

He held out hope that getting him to a neutral doctor would encourage him to open up about what he was going through, but in the back of his mind recognized that he had no idea of Kevin’s history, of his mental state, or even of his physical state. 

In the waiting room, Connor found himself filling out the forms with Kevin; Kevin had tried, but his hands had shaken too hard to fill them out on his own.

So he’d provided whatever information he could, and asked Kevin for the details of what he couldn’t. Kevin’s answers all came as nothing more than mouth movement, with a very light whisper attached.

Do you have an address you’d like to put? Kevin shook his head.

On any medications? PrEP. Connor didn’t allow himself to hesitate as he wrote it down.

Allergies? Medical history issues you want known? Connor tried to speed up his line of questioning as Kevin curled himself into a ball, his responding slower and coming harder. When a couple stray tears finally began falling from his eyes, Connor gave up on filling out the forms. He held Kevin’s hand tightly as Kevin’s arms hugged his belly; it didn’t take long before he let his head fall against the armrest, his eyes pinching shut and tears free flowing from his eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” Connor said. “Hang in there, Kev.” Connor stood, bringing the clipboard to the desk, and quietly explained what had happened. He pressed the nurse to see Kevin quickly, explained that his condition was rapidly deteriorating and he needed a doctor immediately, but the nurse only directed him to sit back down and wait. 

Gearing up to try to use any pull he might have, he turned to check on Kevin. It was just in time to see a young girl bee-lining toward him, no older than 6, clutching a small white stuffed bunny.

Kevin didn’t see her, Connor was pretty sure, as she approached him. Connor scanned the room for her parents, and spotted a middle aged man talking with a nurse, concern written on his face. He made his way over to them, unsure of where this was heading but fully aware that Kevin wasn’t in the right headspace to talk with anyone, let alone a small child.

“Are you okay?” he heard her whisper, her little hand covering Kevin’s. Kevin, of course, flinched at the contact, his blue eyes opening slowly as his tears kept coming and coming. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked Connor, as he crouched down next to Kevin. “Is he hurt?”

Connor nodded. “Yeah,” he said eventually.

“It’s okay,” she told Kevin, her hand squeezing his briefly.

“Sarah!” Connor’s eyes snapped up as the man quickly closed the distance between them. 

“Here,” she said to Kevin, pushing her bunny into his arms. Kevin looked at it quietly, the tears continuing to flow down his cheeks. “You hang onto this. He’ll help keep you safe.”

"Thank you," he whispered, as he tried to pull himself together. Connor could hear him gasping at breaths, could see the tension in his entire body. Kevin nodded, pulling the bunny closer to his chest. The little girl offered a warm smile.

“I’m so sorry,” the man said, grabbing his daughter’s hand. Connor stood as the man pulled her away; she stared quizzically at Kevin until her father eventually scooped her up. 

Connor sat down next to Kevin then, watching carefully as his fingers, white from the exertion of fisting them so tightly, wrapped around the bunny. His silent tears turned into something closer to sobs, and Connor glanced desperately at the front desk.

"It's gonna be okay," Connor said, falling to his knees, wrapping his hands around Kevin's. He forced himself to remain calm. Although neutrality wasn't completely an option, he needed to keep himself in check.

Kevin nodded, burying his face into the stuffed animal, letting it muffle the guttural sounds that came from deep in his chest. Connor suspected the shift was partially responsible for the speed with which the hospital worked; only moments later, a nurse tapped him on the shoulder. 

"Is this Kevin?" she asked, gesturing to another nurse with a wheelchair. Connor nodded. This was Kevin.

✥ ✥ ✥

They made Connor wait outside, which was to be expected but still stung. Kevin would be more comfortable without him in there, and perhaps more open to honestly recounting what happened to him. Still, Connor couldn’t help the feelings of anxiety that pushed on his mind as he waited, pacing the hallway near where Kevin had been taken. 

When they finally came for him, the doctor held him outside the room for just a moment.

“He’s very weak,” she said. “He’s dehydrated, suffering from,” she looked over his chart. “Look, it’s bleak. I’m not sure what exactly he’s told you, but he has several injuries ranging in severity, in addition to hypothermia and the dehydration.”

Connor nodded. He’d suspected as much, but didn’t know the extent of anything.

“He should be admitted for observation for at least twenty-four hours, but I’m going to be honest with you, it doesn’t seem like we’re going to have any luck keeping him here. The nurse is cleaning him up and then you can go in. Try to convince him to say.” She offered a perfunctory smile as she moved around Connor, out of sight.

Connor brushed his hand over his face, checked his phone. It was close to six in the morning, and he was due at the hospital soon. He began cycling through options for coverage, at least for the morning, sending out texts and coordinating with the administrators. When the nurse finally came for him, he stood, following her to Kevin’s room.

Kevin was curled on his side on the bed, the small blanket he’d been provided mostly now crumpled into one fist, the white bunny held in a death grip in the other.

“Hey,” Connor said, approaching the bed. Kevin didn’t open his eyes. “You alright, buddy?” he asked, putting his hand on top of Kevin’s. He pulled the blanket from his fingers and draped it over him, then dragged the chair over. He glanced, as quickly as he could without Kevin catching him, at the monitors that surrounded him.

Pulse and blood pressure were both weak, temperature low but not dangerously so anymore, breathing okay. The IV and oxygen lines looked good, but under the fluorescents of the hospital, the bruising on Kevin’s neck was more evident than he’d previously noticed.

His wrists had been bandaged, but his wounds peeked out under his wristband.

“Oh, Kevin,” Connor said, to no one in particular. His words carried weight, the weight of the day that confused him and broke every notion he’d had of this man. What had _happened_? How had he gotten here?

Kevin curled up tighter as Connor let his elbows rest on the bed beside him, his fingers interlocking and pressing into his forehead.

He remembered Uganda, the feeling of waking every morning a few minutes before the rest of them, just so he could see Kevin Price emerge from his bedroom, hair wild and eyes bright. So they could steal a sunrise or so together after Kevin ran like a madman across the village, which was an every morning event. So he could see Kevin smile as he drank his coffee. So he could catch the sliver of tan skin that would peek out from under his shirt when he’d stretch. So he could enjoy a moment alone with the boy that, he was pretty sure at the time, he loved beyond reason. 

He wasn’t sure if Kevin even knew, if he was being honest. It wasn’t until years after they all got home that Chris laid into him about it, told him how obvious he’d been the entire time, told him how _of course_ Kevin knew, but he was too kind to ever say anything. 

As far as Connor knew he’d gone to college, married a woman, had several children, gotten his dream job and was living in a house in the suburbs with his dog and his family and Connor, in the moments he let himself spend thinking about Kevin, had been _happy_ for him.

He opened his eyes, fighting back his own tears, and looked over the boy who laid before him, shaking and pale and not far from death, starving and hurting and believing, _truly_ believing, that no one in this world cared about him. That he had nothing.

Connor wasn’t naive enough to think it’d be easy; as a doctor, specifically a doctor in _this_ city, he was pretty grounded in the reality of the challenges ahead. But Kevin Price would always have someone in his corner. And Connor decided, at that moment, that he’d find a way to make sure Kevin knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr is back in action after a brief blip: awesome-job-kevin


	3. Chapter 3

Consciousness came back to Kevin in waves. He tried to take a quick inventory of his injuries. His memory of the night was spotty, but he felt reasonably sure that he hadn’t hallucinated the more potent bits. He pinched his eyes shut as he began to cough, over and over, his throat transitioning from a sort of pleasant numbness to a relentless fire. He couldn't tell how much of it was due to the coughing, and how much from the abuse it’d taken earlier in the night. He gasped, grasping at the sheet, stretching and curling and just trying to catch his breath.

He swallowed and the bitter taste of medicine overwhelmed his senses, triggering a gag that he was slow to react to. The result was an acute awareness that his body was not, at least not wholly, in his control. 

He took another experimental breath, clenching his teeth through the burn in his chest. He kept his eyes closed and tried to roll to his side, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His arms wrapped around his stomach and he willed the pain in his chest to ease. He pretended, just for a few moments, that he was at home- or, he supposed, that he was somewhere warm. He tried to picture what that might be like, but his mind supplied only images of the bathroom, the clean tile, the glass walls. That was, Kevin reminded himself, _not_ his home.

A new throaty, deep cough pulled him from the daydream and he- and he still couldn’t catch his breath. The sting of tears burned as he fought to pull in air, his fingers curling around the rail of the hospital bed, grasping at whatever he could, and his eyes clamping shut. He used everything he had left to try to roll over, and he found himself praying that it would be enough to pull him out of whatever this was. Praying that he could just… just breathe.

But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t do it, and he felt, not for the first time that evening, that this might be it for him.

He felt hands on his skin, between his shoulders, forcing his body to its side, before something was secured over his mouth and nose; the new burn brought new tears to his eyes but he gulped down air anyway. He couldn't not. His lungs were being ripped apart from the inside, and he-

“There you go,” he heard, the voice so painfully familiar that the memories of the night pounded against his mind. “Deep breaths.” The hands began a tentative pattern of small circles on his back, and all Kevin could do was gasp for air and clutch the cold plastic and stay as alive as he could.

 _Open your eyes,_ he commanded himself, and then he told himself more gently, and then he resorted to begging himself, _please open your eyes_ , ashamed of how weak he’d grown. That Connor had seen him like this. That Connor was… Connor was here? In a moment of unfiltered panic, he made a futile effort to sit up, the movement sending a shooting pain through his ribs, the hands on his back moving to his shoulder… teetering between comforting him and… and holding him down?

He collapsed back down into the thin mattress, shrinking away from the touch as far as the bed and the machines and the… as far as he could. “P _lease_ ,” he heard himself saying, then crying, then screaming, but something was blocking his voice-

-his free hand fumbled for the mask, his eyes too heavy to open but knowing he needed to _get it off_. 

“You’re alright,” he heard distantly.

He used his last bits of energy to open his eyes-

And as Kevin lay there, curled up and shivering, it was Connor McKinley who hovered over him, one hand rubbing those circles on his back, part comforting and part panic-inducing, and one hand tangling itself together with his, pulling it away from the mask. He couldn’t stop the tears from gathering in his eyes, threatening to spill over without fanfare, and he didn’t have the strength to wipe them away, and he couldn’t talk, and he couldn’t breathe, and the memories of doctors and nurses and-

“It’s okay,” Connor said, his voice gentle and assertive and… _kind._ “You’re alright. Try to go back to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

The last thing Kevin remembered as more people entered the room, as Connor moved away from him and voices filled the air, was the feeling of pulling the stuffed bunny to his chest, of wrapping it up, and of praying that it was all a bad dream.

That everything was a bad dream.

✥ ✥ ✥

The next time he woke up, his condition had unarguably improved. The mask was still secured over his mouth and his nose, and he still felt as though he’d been run down by an actual truck, but he could breathe, and for that alone he was grateful.

The day went by in a sort of rhythmic way, and Kevin found comfort in the predictability of it all. Connor sat by his side quietly, browsing his phone or reading to him or watching the news, Kevin drifted in and out of consciousness. 

Connor seemed to make a pointed effort to give him some space, to respect physical boundaries and to keep his words light. Connor was with him when the mask came off, he was with him when the nurse helped him up and listened to his chest with a look of concern, and was with him as the IVs were removed and the machines were disconnected. 

And when a nurse eventually asked Connor to leave, which he reluctantly agreed to do, Kevin was forced to spend the next… God, could have been hours, in a cold, mostly-empty room with various medical professionals and a social worker. He was overwhelmed by the extent of his apparent health decline, and was explicitly told that if he wasn't careful, he wouldn’t ‘make it’ another six months. What they failed to realize was that he was already painfully aware of this, and that he was doing his best. In fact, he told them with a half-hearted smile, he thought six months was being generous. The doctor inhaled deeply and closed the folder that he had been referring to. 

The social worker was kinder, in a way; she sat next to him, kept her hands to herself, and talked somewhat nervously about assault. It was consensual, Kevin assured her multiple times. It didn’t matter one way or another, he reminded himself, when he felt uncharacteristic tears once more forming in his eyes.

She smiled and nodded, the look of pity that he had grown too familiar with written clearly on her face, as much as she tried to hide it. Apparently, he finally said the right (or wrong) thing, because she left him with a few pamphlets and phone numbers, her contact information, and a tentative squeeze on his shoulder.

And finally, after a heated conversation that included Connor and the discharge nurse, which started with kid gloves and ended in Connor _literally_ screaming at him, Kevin found himself in a car, unable to stay fully upright but painfully aware of Connor’s eyes, fiery with anger in a way only Connor at his most heated could be.

They rode in silence for the first several minutes. It was… maybe it should have been an awkward silence, but Kevin didn’t have the energy for awkward silences, and found it was comfortable.

He was also aware, though, of Connor’s mouth opening and closing, once every few minutes, his brow creasing in frustration as some of the rage left his features. Kevin remained silent. If Connor wanted to speak, he would speak. 

“Kevin,” he heard, a moment before his shoulder was shaken gently. His eyes were slow to open, red and unfocused. Had he fallen asleep? “What do you want to eat?”

He squinted out the window as he sat up, wincing at the action. They were in a McDonald’s parking lot. 

“I, uhh-,” he started, looking himself over. 

_He sat alone on a bench, his backpack as his only possession. Inside, though, was enough money to feed him for a few days, and maybe get him a hotel. Had it been worth it? That question plagued him frequently, but was especially poignant that night._

_The tears were still fresh on his cheeks, his wrists and his stomach aching, and the winter storm was coming in quickly. It had to be worth it. He wouldn’t survive the night without shelter._

_He stood slowly, for the first time since he’d left the condo. His muscles retaliated, but he needed to get ahead of the storm. As he walked, his brain did the thing it sometimes did. Brought him back to the condo. And in desperation, he forced his mind on his time in Uganda, the last time he felt anything close to being alive. And then the memories would be interrupted with the condo again-_

_He clung tightly to his backpack and took an alley to escape the wind-_

“I’m not hungry,” he finished slowly. It was better than the truth. He didn’t have any money. It also wasn’t completely a lie. Whatever the doctors had given him was making his stomach churn, he just needed to… get some fresh air, or something. If he was being honest, he wasn’t quite sure what he needed.

The way Connor looked at him, though, made him shift uncomfortably. Connor must have picked up on it, because he averted his eyes and asked the driver to bypass the line.

“We’ll make something back home,” he eventually said, his eyes distant. He looked like he was going to speak again, but instead just put his hand over Kevin’s and squeezed it lightly.

Kevin nodded, letting his weight fall against the door, the cool glass of the window soothing on his cheek. 

✥ ✥ ✥

Connor wasn’t sure how, exactly, he had wound up in this position; only that he was not letting go of Kevin Price’s hand. Maybe ever. The rest of the ride was a silent, reflective ten minutes, where Connor tried to work out just how hard to push him while also trying to work out if his skin felt too warm, if his shaking was a result of the cold, the medicine, or something worse… if Kevin would want the bed or the couch.

Kevin, very obviously, should have still been in the hospital, but it had been made painfully clear that that wasn’t actually a viable option in his mind. And respecting that he was a grown adult who was fully within his rights to leave against medical advice was a notion that Connor was slowly coming to grips with.

Still, he’d be hard pressed to allow Kevin back out on the streets (and, if it was taken out of his hands, which he was very aware it could be, he at least needed rest and warmth for a few days). Which left them with impressively limited options.

There was never any doubt in the decision, if it was even a decision. Connor’s door was, and would always be, open to Kevin Price. There was a question, though, of if he’d take the help. And, Connor thought, as long as he was careful, he could convince him to.

So he let the ‘ _I’m not hungry_ ,’ slide. And he watched as Kevin’s eyes slid shut, and as he fingers wrapped around the fabric of his pants, and as he winced every time he swallowed too hard.

When they made it to the apartment, he didn’t allow Kevin an opportunity to object.

Before Kevin had even realized they were there, Connor was at his door, opening it gently and guiding him out.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said, wrapping Kevin’s arm gingerly around his shoulders and making the walk briskly. 

He helped Kevin to the couch, keeping as much of his weight as he could as he could. His body, pliant almost, immediately curled up, his head finding the arm rest.

“Let me get you a pillow and... a blanket.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Do you need anything else?”

Kevin shook his head, pulling the bunny in close to his chest. For a moment, Connor stared at it, before retreating.

His hands shook as he pulled a spare blanket and pillow from his room.

“He’s going to be fine,” he whispered to himself, as he grabbed a fresh set of clothes. “He’ll warm up, and he’ll just stay here. He’ll be fine.”

He could hear him coughing from the living room, the deep, throaty cough of bronchitis that was laced with raspy breaths and wheezing. Kevin had a prescription that he refused to fill that would have been really fucking handy in that moment. Connor would need to fill it in the morning.

He waited until the coughing had passed before he went out, kneeling down in front of the couch. 

Kevin’s eyes were shut, his breathing heavy and his fingers shaking. 

“Lift up your head,” Connor whispered, easing the pillow under him. Kevin’s weight immediately sank into the soft fabric, his grip on the bunny tightening momentarily. Connor draped the blanket over him and turned on the TV, grabbed him a bottle of water, and turned off the lights, finding just enough room on the couch at Kevin’s feet for him.

He put on The Lion King, a movie that he had, perhaps shamefully, steadfastly avoided since Uganda. Kevin’s eyes opened as the logo danced across the screen; even with the day, or week, or month that he had, the idea that Kevin Price still could not resist a Lion King viewing softened Connor. He was pretty sure his heart sped up, circumstances be damned.

He cleared his throat, serving as a distraction mostly to himself. “Do you want to try to eat something?” Connor asked, as Kevin lifted himself a little. 

“Okay,” he responded. Connor made his way to the kitchen, anxious as he worked but eager to get some food into his friend. 

When he came back to the living room, several minutes later, with a mug of hot tea and two grilled cheese sandwiches, he was somewhat relieved to see Kevin sitting up, focused intently on the screen. 

He handed him a plate with one and took his own. For _countless_ awkward minutes, Kevin pulled off tiny pieces of bread and nibbled slowly, each swallow a reminder that he was hurting.

And he _had_ to be aware that Connor was openly staring at him, right?

But Kevin kept his eyes trained on the screen, with the corners of his mouth curling into the smallest smile every so often, the reflection of the movie in his eyes almost making them sparkle. 

Eventually, Connor opened his mouth to speak.

He didn’t get far before he closed his mouth, realizing he didn’t know what to say; Kevin turned his attention to him anyway.

“It’s okay,” Kevin finally said, pulling off another small bite of bread. “You can ask me whatever you want.”

Connor nodded. 

He had tried to prioritize a list of questions multiple times to no avail. Now, he was just… he was lost.

“How are you feeling?” he started with. Easy enough, he figured, since it was written literally in every line of Kevin’s face.

Kevin smiled in spite of himself, just one corner of his mouth turning up into that lopsided- 

“I’ve been better,” he replied softly. His fingers wrapped around the mug, bringing it slowly to his lips. 

“Yeah,” Connor said. “Yeah, I figured. It’s just…”

Kevin’s smile faded.

“Will you… I mean…” Connor took a breath, closing his eyes and shaking his head to restart. "What..."

Connor’s eyes searched Kevin’s, so blue they were almost clear, unable to find the right question.

It was Kevin was broke the silence. “Really, whatever you want to know. After everything you’ve done for me...” His voice trailed off as he picked at his food.

“No,” Connor said, his voice resolute. He shook his head again, more pointedly this time. Kevin flinched at the word, or maybe at his tone, and he backtracked. “I mean… no. I- you don’t owe me anything, okay? Just… I can’t go into this conversation with you thinking you owe me something.”

Kevin nodded, taking a tentative sip of tea, his eyes cast downward and his fingers fidgeting anxiously. Connor kept backtracking.

“It’s just that… I don’t want there to be some weird power thing, right? You don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to answer.”

Kevin nodded again, but he was withdrawn. He blinked slowly, then took a deep breath, none of which was lost on Connor. Nor was lost on him when Kevin moved his grip from the mug to the bunny, his fingers wrapping tightly around the core of the stuffed animal.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin said slowly. Connor’s heart skipped a beat, and he opened his mouth to interrupt again, but held back. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t… I don’t think I owe you anything. I just… you can ask whatever you want. I don’t really have many secrets.”

Connor forced his expression to remain neutral and nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “I…” He had a thousand questions on his mind. _PrEP? Where is your family in all this? How long have you been on the streets? Are you gay? How sick are you? What the fuck happened? Where do we go from here? Who_ hurt _you? “_ Let’s shelve this conversation,” he finally said, when none of the questions felt appropriate, and the dark circles under Kevin’s eyes were only getting worse, and it was crystal fucking clear that Kevin wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with this. “Why don’t you stay here for a few days?” Connor stared straight ahead as he asked it. “Just- just until you’re a little stronger?”

Kevin watched him. His expression was almost unreadable, but was a clear mixture of exhaust, of sadness, of anxiety… Connor couldn’t nail it down. Eventually, when it looked like Kevin was really and truly on the verge of crying, he nodded, and turned his focus forcefully back to the movie.

Connor took the cue, also curling himself up onto the couch, eager to reach out to Kevin and let him know he wasn’t alone, but really not sure if that would help. After endless minutes of silently watching that movie, and very much against his better judgment, Connor inched closer to Kevin, laying his hand flat in the space between them, palm up. Kevin looked at it, and with a shaky breath, moved his entire body, his wince apparent as he maneuvered over. Instead of taking his hand, Kevin surprised Connor yet again, and laid his head in Connor’s lap softly before curling himself up once more.

Eventually, Connor found himself lacing his fingers through Kevin’s hair, watching carefully for any red flags. Kevin’s eyes closed slowly, but his grip on the bunny never once let up.

It felt oddly reminiscent, but still so different, Connor thought, as he watched the Lion King with the sound of Kevin’s even (albeit labored) breathing in the background. The Lion King had been one of three VHS tapes they had in their apartment in Uganda, along with a small contraband TV and VCR. For the most part, the boys who had stayed never watched it. They had found other hobbies, fishing and hiking and exploring and “helping people out.” 

But Kevin and Connor… had made something of a habit of sneaking out of their rooms after dark, curling up on opposite ends of the couch with coffee or popcorn or whatever snacks they could find in the market, and they would watch this stupid movie and laugh and cry and talk about the future and _dream_. Connor didn’t actually, back then, think he had much of a future. He often credited Kevin, in large part, for giving him the drive to follow his dreams.

And Kevin, he thought, was always destined for greatness. Eyes sparkling, body alight with the buzz of watching fucking Disney movies on their little couch in the middle of nowhere. They didn’t have a falling out, but they had gone in separate directions when they got back. Connor, to NYU. Kevin, back to Utah. They tried to keep in touch, but things had gotten hard, and Connor had suffered something of a heartbreak when Kevin started dating, making it more and more difficult to hear his voice. The Lion King became forbidden, and popcorn and bad potato chip nights became bittersweet.

So he had… tried to make something of himself. Tried to be the type of person that could land a guy like Kevin. He worked hard for it, daydreaming constantly of the day that they might reunite. It never looked like this. But he found himself, while sitting on that couch, still grateful that it had happened at all.

✥ ✥ ✥

Connor didn’t sleep that night. He sat in that position, with Kevin’s head in his lap, counting Kevin’s breaths, as he had done so many times in Uganda. Every hitch gave him pause, every time Kevin’s muscles tensed Connor would wait, holding his breath, until inevitably, he would relax back into his sleep. 

When the sun rose, Connor stood carefully, placing a pillow carefully under Kevin’s head, and ran his fingers through his hair. He would have to go back to the hospital. He needed to. He couldn’t throw away this thing that he had worked tirelessly for the last ten years to achieve, but he also couldn’t shake the feeling that if he left, he might never see Kevin again. 

He went about his morning routine slowly. He showered, he shaved. He kept the lights off, and frequently checked to make sure that Kevin was at ease. He scribbled a note, he left bread and coffee on the counter. On his way to the door he stopped, making his way back to the boy who was curled so tightly on his couch. 

He let the back of his fingers linger on Kevin’s forehead for a moment, and eventually brushed the hair aside. 

Kevin’s eyelids fluttered open, his eyes unfocused and red.

“Sorry,” Connor whispered, and removed his hand. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be back by five, okay? Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

Kevin inhaled deeply and his eyes closed, his fingers wrapping tighter around the blanket. And without another word, Connor stood. The walk to the door was one of the hardest of his life.

Kevin would be here when he got back. He had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate your kudos/comments, and hopefully we'll see another chapter within the next 6 months.
> 
> [it has also occurred to me that this is very reminiscent of everything else i've ever written and i will not apologize for that. write what you love love what you write yk? okthatsallgotobedit'schristmaseve]


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